


no light, no light

by nspx



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Gen, Heavy Angst, be warned, leave me alone tbh, this one hurt to write and took foREVER
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-13
Updated: 2015-04-13
Packaged: 2018-03-22 16:25:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3735673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nspx/pseuds/nspx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The war haunts Anakin even when she is with him, even when she holds him tight and murmurs in his ear, “Ani, please, I’m here, it’s okay.”<br/>He still wakes up in cold sweat. She wishes things were different.<br/>3 times Anakin comes to Padme + the one time she comes to him</p>
            </blockquote>





	no light, no light

**Author's Note:**

> Angsty McAngster (aka me) strikes again! In which Padme experiences the toll the war has taken on Anakin.  
> Title after the Florence + the Machine song.  
> Leave a comment maybe? Comments heal broken hearts.

He comes to her with long, shaggy, unevenly cut hair and a grim look on his face; there is no spark left in his eyes. He comes to her with scars, new and old, cuts all over the expanse of his skin; they’re scratches, he says – shallow. The deeper ones, she knows, are hidden from view.

He lets them bleed only at night, when she lays at his side and he clings to her as quiet sobs rack through his body, when he shakes so hard she wonders if he still sees the warzone, the bodies, the destruction; she strokes his hair and whispers Nubian lullabies into his ear, places soothing kisses on his skin – his sleep is restless, his nose nestled in the crook of her neck. She is silent. She cannot bear to see him suffer another day.

(She swallows back her tears and says, “This is killing you.”

He rubs his tired eyes and says, “This is only right.”)

When he wakes in the morning she’s in the kitchen making tea; Obi-Wan used to make it for him when he was little, when things got tough. She figures, if she can’t make his pain go away, she can at least try to lessen it.

(“Obi-Wan is the worst cook,” Ani tells her over early breakfast. “The only thing he can make halfway decently is tea.”

“Really? Only halfway decently?” she grins and ignores how close the sun is to rising.

Anakin nods enthusiastically, laughter bubbling from his lips. “One time, he somehow managed to set his robes on fire making it!”

His laughter is infectious. She imagines Obi-Wan, flustered and red-faced, trying to put out the fire in his robes, swatting at the fabric while the kettle whistles.

For a moment she wishes they lived other lives, so mornings like these wouldn’t be a luxury; but when he grins at her, his smile so brilliant and breathtaking and  _Anakin_ , all such thoughts leave her. They’re here now, in her too-big-for-one-person apartment, and he’s alive and hers and –

He takes her hand and intertwines their fingers. Her chest swells with affection; she smiles.

She knows he’ll have to be back in Temple in two hours. It doesn’t matter, not right now.)

She can still smell Geonosis sometimes; she can still see the arena, feel the terror creep up on her at night. She can still smell it, the undeniable stench of burning flesh and metal. She cannot imagine what it’s like for him, who spends months on battlefields, whose sole purpose in the galaxy is to fight.

She wonders if he ever truly lets his guard down, if he knows that on Coruscant, there is no war to fight; when they lay together, his lightsaber at an arm’s length, she thinks about which one of them is wrong.

(Her who believes that diplomacy still exists in the Core Worlds and will always prevail; or him who knows first-hand that violence is ebbed into the very core of the galaxy.)

His footsteps are heavy, dragging across the marble of her kitchen floor. She turns around to face him; the sleepless nights drained the light he had emitted and the sight is strangely terrifying. He drops his head onto her shoulder, overlong golden hair tickling her neck, and simply murmurs, sounding so defeated and  _tired_ and beaten down: “Thank you.”

Tears spring to her eyes and oh Force, Ani, what did they  _do_  to you?

He comes to her over holograms and grand news announcements. He comes to her a dream, a myth, a legend – he’s the Hero With No Fear whispered of in the Outer Rims, where hope is a privilege not all have. His story is told to children all over the universe–“He’ll make it right, won’t he, Pops? He’ll save us.”– and Padme realizes that her Ani is a beacon of light not only to her, but to the entire blasted galaxy.

_“SkywalkerandKenobi did it once again!”_

_“Another victory at the hands of Jedi General’s KenobiandSkywalker.”_

_“The Republic’s own personal heroes, SkywalkerandKenobi, have successfully saved yet another planet from the evil Separatists!”_

It’s lovely and all that, him being so important and needed – it’s what he deserves. Yet she can’t help but think it’s  _unfair_. She knew what she was getting into when she married him, she knew they were in the middle of war, she knew sacrifices were to be made but she never knew she’d hear from him only through Holonet or vague reports from the Jedi Council to Senate. ‘Mission successful, MasterKenobiandKnightSkywalker are alive,’ and she exhales after months and months of tossing and turning in an empty bed, one side of it awfully cold.

He looks older each time she sees him, less like Ani she fell in love with and more like Anakin Skywalker, the general, the savior, the last glimmer of hope. He’s beautiful to her either way, with his tanned cheeks and rough hands – she wonders if that will ever truly change.

She looks different, too, he tells her – she doesn’t smile as much as she used to before.

Times are tough. They’re changing and evolving, perhaps in a way neither had wanted to.

He smells the same, engine oil and leather and home, and he kisses her with the same ferocity he always had. But she can’t help but think he’s different somehow, different in a way she doesn’t like. He’s drawn back, distant; she understands. He’ll be leaving in two weeks’ time. She’s not looking forward to it either. He wakes, inhaling deeply, hair matted down to his head; he says, “Go back to sleep, angel,” when she tries to console him, get him to talk.

They don’t have time to talk about the war right now – they’ll do that when it’s over, when the only danger looming over their heads is missing the season finale of Coruscanti Housewives.

(“These people are horrible!” Ani cries and Padme laughslaughslaughs ‘til she’s crying.

“These – These people,” he splutters wildly, “Are  _horrible_.”

She doubles over in his lap, leaning on his leg for support – this is nice. This is like it should always be. Them together, he sitting shirtless on the couch, her in said shirt with her hair down, watching television.

“You love them, Ani,” she giggles and he feigns horror, scoffing at her allegations, “You can’t lie to me!”

“I  _don’t_  like them!” he denies hotly and pokes at her sides, but he has to admit there is some...  _charm_  to them. They’re entertaining.

She records the episodes for him back to back and he makes her promise she’ll take the secret to her grave.)

(She does.)

There’s a new scar on his back, running diagonally across the expanse of his broad shoulders, pink and raised under her finger-tip; he flinches. She ignores the ache settling in her chest at his reaction and draws a sharp breath and  _ohAniwhathappenedtoyou_  – “It’s nothing,” he says reassuringly. “Didn’t even hurt.”

 _When will he you trust me enough to tell me these things_ lies on the tip of her tongue but she doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need this right now, not when their time together is so short.

She kisses his shoulder, caresses his arms – the durasteel is cold under her fingers. He turns around to face her, kisses at her neck until she’s lying down; his lips quirk upwards in a dangerous smile.

“You know,” he says and traces the curve of her collarbone with one single finger. “I really did miss you.”

He settles between her legs, the weight of him familiar and comforting, and she breathes out, “Yeah?”

He hums in confirmation, smirk playing on his lips and  _damn him and his eyes_  –

“Show me.”

His grin is wolfish. Her breath hitches in her throat.

(“I did it,” he whispers to her one night and she tenses, knowing what he’s about to say. “I started the Clone Wars.”

“You know that’s not true,” she shakes her head wildly and sits up, finding the light switch. “There was no stopping it.”

He turns away from her, chest heaving; he’s had  _another_  nightmare. He says, “If it weren’t for me, there would be no war. If I weren’t so  _damn_  useless –“

She takes his face in shaking hands, no, Ani, don’t say that, you did your best –

_“It wasn’t enough.”_

There’s something in his eyes, burning and dangerous and dark, that shuts her up.

He swallows. He says, “I’m sorry, angel. It’s been a hard few weeks,” and she nods hesitantly. He sighs.

She knows.)

She collects holovids now, she admits to herself begrudgingly, and perhaps that is selfish of her– she can’t go without seeing him, while he _has_ to go without seeing her face for months on end, because possessions are forbidden and the risk of getting discovered is too great. He worries about her endlessly while she has Holonet, at least. She’s the lucky one in this equation and she knows she’s selfish, but she can’t help herself; he’s always made her bend and twist her morals, if only slightly.

He stands tall in her recordings, shoulders hunched in that way of his; Obi-Wan is always next to him, strong, steady, solid – to any average citizen they seem victorious. Proud, even. But she knows better.

(“I don’t know how much longer I can hold on,” he whispers, lips quivering. “I don’t know if we can do this much longer.”

She cradles him to her chest as though he were little; he clings to her as though she’s the only thing keeping him alive.

She sometimes wonders whether she is.

“Obi-Wan isn’t doing good either,” he tells her, “He drinks when no one’s looking. I’m worried about him,” he admits, quietly, as though saying you were worried for your best friend was _wrong_.

All she can do it promise this will pass, like everything else does, and kiss him until he feels better. She doesn’t believe her own lies anymore.

He doesn’t either.)

When he comes home, he sleeps for twelve hours straight. She brews him tea and listens to the sound of his breathing before falling asleep herself, the tea cold and forgotten on her nightstand. She thinks about the last time she’s seen him and realizes that it feels like forever; it’s only been two months, give or take a day. She used to keep count way back when, check her calendar every morning; now it just hurts too much. ‘I’m coming home in three days, my love,’ always seems to turn into weeks and drag into months.

But he’s a Jedi; poster boy for the crumbling Republic.  He has a responsibility to the people.

(There’s something happening in Senate but she can’t tell Anakin about it.

His political views have never been, to put it mildly, on par with hers. He sees people, not planets. He isn’t born a politician and how could he be, born the way he is, in the desert to a slave. They don’t know politics on Tatooine, he said more than once. He doesn’t need them to be a Jedi either.

He faithfully supports the Chancellor and that, perhaps, is something she loves and hates about him all the same: his loyalty – unyielding, permanent and oftentimes  _blind_.

She’s growing worried. She doesn’t trust Palpatine, not anymore.

But she does trusts Anakin. That will have to be enough for the time being.)

He comes to her after a great victory, the Sith Killer, the savior of the Chancellor and Obi-Wan – more importantly Obi-Wan, but Force forbid Anakin hears her say that.

He’d murdered a Sith – Count Dooku, to be exact. She’s not exactly sure how she feels about her husband being a professional murderer (the Jedi are about _peace_ , he tells her, but when she looks at him, bruised and battered, she questions it), exactly, but she supposes Dooku was a great threat and he did everyone a favor by executing him. Still; it makes her uneasy.

How will their child grow up to be normal when their father is constantly scrubbing blood off his hands? How will their child grow up the way it deserves to when their mother is fighting for a democracy long lost (this is something she admits to herself much later, when she is practically embracing death and the Republic lays in ruins)? How will their child become a well-adjusted individual when it was born in the middle of a warzone, disguised with pretty twinkling lights and clothed in marble?

(She absently runs her hand down her stomach and bites her lip. He’ll be here any time.)

He’s so beautiful, she thinks. His presence takes up a room completely, shadowing everyone else; he demands to be seen and admired. He can’t help it.

He excuses himself from Bail; cloaked in certain darkness, robe billowing around his ankles– to her he’s never shone brighter. He runs to embrace her, tightly, lifting her feet off the floor and spinning her around. It’s like she can breathe again after _so long_ , taking in his scent, feeling his hair under her fingers; she’s finally home.

(Sometimes, when he’s far away and nobody, not even the Jedi, know if he’s alive, she reaches out to him through the Force.

She knows it’s ridiculous, because she's about as Force-sensitive as a stone, but she swears by the Nubian gods she _feels_ him. She feels him, somewhere in her chest, warm and bright and burning between her ribs; he’s with her, always, even when they’re on different sides of the galaxy.)

He leans down to kiss her and he’s so close and she missed him so much but _blasted_ Ani, we’re already in enough trouble as it is, the last thing we need right now is for people to find out about us – she says, softly, voice trembling as the rest of her, “Ani... I’m pregnant.”

He’s searching for the words to say, breathing turning ragged, and she looks at him with pleading eyes: Ani please say something, _anything_ , don’t go silent now – his entire face lights up, making her heart soar. He looks at her as though she were the very center of the universe, as though she were binding the galaxy together; she feels the air around them burn bright yellow, flickering softly, showering her in warmth. Ani is _happy_ and he hadn’t been happy in so long. It bounces of the walls, fills the entire room to the brink when he cups her face: “Our baby,” he whispers with all the stars dancing in his bright eyes, “Is a blessing.”

“This is a happy moment,” he tells her, trying to keep the laughter out of his voice, managing to calm her own raging doubts and insecurities; he kisses her then, long and deep, the promise of a lifetime of happiness and love on the tip of his tongue.

She’ll hold him to it.

(When he dreams of her dying in childbirth, he swears with the conviction of a madman: “I won’t let this one become reality!”

She strokes his hair, ignores the dread clawing at her insides. His eyes are strangely hollow, dark. But her babies will be fine, she can feel it. Everything will be alright, in the end.

When they’re back in bed, him holding her to his chest protectively, she wonders what he’d do to keep her alive.

 _Anything_ , her subconscious whispers. _He’d do anything._

A chill runs up her spine – she’s never been more terrified in her life and not a thing has happened.)

(Yet.)

The last time he comes to her, his eyes a fusion of cerulean and gold, baring the news of the Jedi’s betrayal, he tells her to wait for him.

She had seen the Temple go up in flames from her balcony, seen the smoke rise high to the skies; the city’s gone strangely silent, she notices right before he kisses her, wraps her in his arms.

He’s saying these _things_ and they make no sense and he has this _look_ on his face – he doesn’t look like himself at all and somehow, he’s never seemed more at home in his own body. She suppresses the need to shudder.

“Oh, Anakin, what are you going to do?” she asks, searching his face for any trace of her husband.

He turns away from her and her chest tightens with fear, her eyes wide with it; he says, voice cold, detached in a way that makes her want to hide from him, “I will _not_ betray the Republic.”

“My loyalties lie with the Chancellor,” he says, itching closer to her and he has this mad look in his eye, gods Padme, _think_ – “And with the Senate. And with you.”

“What about Obi-Wan?” she asks, trying to find him, _Anakin_ , somewhere in the man standing before her.

He looks at her and says, indifferent, “I don’t know. Many Jedi have been killed.”

 _Please Ani, where are you_ – “We can only hope he’s remained loyal to the Chancellor.”

(A little piece of her heart chips away in that moment.)

“I’m afraid,” she tells him honestly, hoping it will trigger something inside of him. He cups her face, looks at her with soft eyes. “Everything will soon be set right,” he says, slight smile on his face, “The Chancellor’s given me a very important mission.”

There he goes with Palpatine again – _He’s gone,_ her subconscious screams at her, but he cannot be.

“I’m going there to end this war,” he says, voice assertive and void of emotion. “Wait for me until I return. Things _will_ be different, I promise.”

When he kisses her one last time, when he’s taken from her again, she wishes they were already.

(Obi-Wan sits on her couch awkwardly, hood over his head. He clears his throat, waits for her to calm down.

He will not comfort her. He cannot – Anakin’s told her countless times before that his Master had a good heart, but he was Jedi through and through. No attachments, no outward signs of affection; she’d always suspected it bothered Anakin and now she could see why.

She feels so alone like this, with her own arms wrapped herself, sobbing uncontrollably while he sits there.

“I’m sorry, Padme,” he says somberly and his voice cracks as he says her name, finally betraying emotion. She looks at him with tear-blurred vision; his Coruscanti accent makes her name sound odd – the way Ani says it is different. She looks at his Master, his best friend, the brother he never had; he believes that Anakin had done those things, but he _couldn’t_ have. Not unless they were true and –

“It’s _not_ true,” she croaks, her whole world crashing down on her, crumbling into ash. “It _can’t_ be.”

The baby kicks, feeling her distress, and she clutches her bump and thinks of its father and what he’s done and _oh little angel, what are we going to do_?

Obi-Wan hears her whisper, “It’s not true,” over and over again, dark curls framing her tear-streaked face, her body trembling.

He hangs his head low. How he wishes it weren’t.)

She comes to him, for the first and last time, to a planet of fire and melted stone, begging for him to return; there is no spark left in his eyes.

She’s met with the shell of a man she once loved so much she was ready to die for him, a man she still loves. She doesn’t kiss him; she can’t, not if Obi-Wan is telling the truth. His touch is foreign, cold; her Ani doesn’t hold her like this. Her Ani would rather die than hurt people. This man – _this_ can’t be him. Not her Ani.

(His face after he’s admitted to murdering – no, _slaughtering_ those sand people plays on a loop in her mind.

That was long ago. He is different now.

He _has_ to be.)

She tries to reach out to him, like she used to when he was far, far away and she needed a reminder that he is still here, that he loves her, cares for her– he’s standing close to her, yet it feels like they’ve never been further apart. She can’t feel him. She can’t feel him burning bright and wonderful and pure in her ribcage anymore, because he’s _gone_.

She can’t believe it. _She knows him_. She knows that he is good, if he could only come away with her to Naboo, they’d raise Luke together and everything would be fine –

“Don't you see?” he asks like this is entirely obvious, like she is blind to some greater truth, “We don't have to run away anymore. I have brought peace to the Republic.”

She shakes her head and puts distance between them, no Ani please, this isn’t you, come back to me – “I am more powerful than the Chancellor. I can overthrow him, and together you and I can rule the galaxy. _Make things the way we want them to be_.”

“I don't believe what I'm hearing,” she’s shaking from head to toe, “Obi-Wan was right. You've _changed_.”  
  
He turns away from her and she thinks she sees his eyes flash bright yellow – “I don't want to hear any more about Obi-Wan,” he grits his teeth, his voice a low warning.

“The Jedi turned against me,” he spits and there is hatred in his eyes, burning like this planet, “Don't _you_ turn against me.”  
  
“I don't know you anymore,” she wails, “Anakin, you're _breaking my heart_. I'll never stop loving you, but you are going down a path I can't follow!”  
  
He doesn’t even spare a glance at her. “Because of Obi-Wan?” he asks, but it‘s more of rhetorical question; there seems to be realization sinking into him, his gaze fixated on the ship behind her, but she _needs_ to get through to him right now, she needs to make him understand; “Because of what you've done – _what you plan to do_!”

She wants to scream at him, but she cannot find it within herself; instead she says, in one last frantic attempt of getting him back: “Stop, stop now. Come back! _I love you_.”  
  
He takes a step, finally looks at her, face displaying nothing but pure contempt – “ _Liar!”_    
  
She turns around to see Obi-Wan and the world is spinning, No, Ani, I’m not betraying you, _please_ -

He raises his hand as if to curl it around her throat and even then, when there is darkness clouding her vision and air being squeezed from her – even then does she love him.

(She had always known he’d be the death of her, one way or another. She thinks briefly of all the times she’s bitten her tongue and how it made him run to _Palpatine_ , of all people; a great pain sears through her, tearing her apart on the inside and all she can do is screamscreamscream.

She names her son Luke and the name means light, because that is what he will be. She names her daughter Leia; on Tattooine it means weary. Anakin always said his mother would’ve named him this, had he not been a boy. It’s fitting somehow, given their situation – but she doesn’t want to damn her daughter to _weariness_. On Naboo, Leia means meadow, like the one where she and Anakin had spent that afternoon, forever ago. So she names her daughter after the place where her parents had last been _truly_ happy and hopes that, one day, Leia will find someone who will give her more happiness than pain.

There is still good in Anakin. She knows this, as she knows her children will grow up to be strong and fearless and all the things she’s never been. He will return to the Light.

He will return to her.)


End file.
